


death do us part

by aliciaxadrienne



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Dark, M/M, Model Luke, Non-Linear Narrative, Songwriter Ashton, rise and fall of a relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-14 16:16:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3417254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliciaxadrienne/pseuds/aliciaxadrienne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He reinvents himself every day because he loves Luke so much, wants to fit in so badly, that he becomes a whole different person compared to who he was when they first met. </p><p>inspired, in part, by Gone Girl, and, in part, by my own imagination.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Rise

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first chapter of what I believe will be a five parter. This narrative is very dark and it's not going to be a fluffy fic, because frankly speaking, both Luke and Ashton are assholes and they just so happen to be assholes together. So there's that.

Ashton falls in love with the Luke Hemmings at the worst possible moment.

He’s supposed to be observing his boss, Lia, flutter around and fix the makeup of the various models waiting for their close up. The whole point of Ashton being at this shoot is so that next week when Lia’s in Panama for her vacation, Ashton can take over all her appointments with VIC (very important clients) and keep them satisfied. The way Lia describes it, the long list of her clientele fit together like puzzle pieces, and each one deserves equal attention.

As a going away present, she had invited Ashton to this big magazine cover shoot in hopes that his social butterfly personality would shine through the ever-present clipboard pressed tightly to his chest.

Instead, he’s been staring at one piece of the Finer Fulfillment Modeling puzzle for at least five minutes. 

Ashton knows all of the models by name, that’s part of his job description. He’s only an intern but Lia treats him like her full-time assistant, even pays him for his work sometimes, and he has done everything in his power to live up to the title.

So he knows that the blonde getting his hair done by Michelle (Ashton’s favorite of all the hair stylists because she’s always willing to gossip about the models with him, and one time, she helped him calm down from an anxiety attack) is not just Luke, but Luke Hemmings, known throughout the fashion world for being one of the most versatile and easily sellable faces, two years younger than Ashton but much more in control of his life.

Mia had nearly shit her pants when Luke had agreed to sign onto Finer Fulfillment for a trial period of six months, for a shoot bi-monthly.

Ashton’s still in la la land thinking about how beautiful Luke looks when he’s focused on his reflection in the mirror when he notices a change in expression from happy to annoyed on Luke’s face. 

This is what he’s been trained for, and although he’d be nervous to interact with Luke in any other situation, Ashton knows handling this situation correctly could mean great things for his paycheck.

He strides over to the hair-and-makeup station and looks in between Luke and Michelle. 

“What’s going on, guys?” Ashton tries to make the smile on his face look more considerate than nervous.

Luke answers with a question of his own. “Who are you?”

“I’m Ashton, Lia’s assistant.”

“Okay, well, _Ashton_ ,” Luke says his name like it’s an unnecessary add-on to a very important sentence, “I’m not sure flat hair is really the route to go for this shoot.”

“Is that so?” Ashton’s eyes flicker up to Michelle, who has the deer-caught-in-the-headlights look painted all over her face. “What do you think would work better, Mr. Hemmings?”

Luke seems taken aback, but nonetheless answers with complete confidence. “Normally, my hair is always quiffed. That’s what I’m comfortable with.”

Ashton leans back on his heels, a gentle smile on his face. “This particular shoot is all about pushing boundaries, Mr. Hemmings,” he spreads one of his hands to bring Luke’s attention to where one of the sets are, “And I’m speaking for Finer Fulfillment when I say that your hair looks fantastic both when it is quiffed, and when it is not.”

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and there’s no doubt in Ashton’s mind that Lia is thirty feet away, watching the exchange between intern and client, expecting it to be a trainwreck.

For a model who’s well-known, and makes money off of his good looks, Luke blushes surprisingly easily. 

“So, if you wish, Michelle here will quiff your hair,” Ashton clamps a hand down on Michelle’s shoulder, “but you might find that a new look could help you nail this shoot.”

Luke nods and Ashton loosens his grip on Michelle, smiling at her before taking a step back and taking in the beloved chaos of a photoshoot in progress.

\-----------------------------

“That was good work back there,” Lia says as Ashton starts loading equipment into trucks. Shooting isn’t nearly done for the day, as it’s barely noon, but they’re changing locations and half of the models, including Luke, have completed all their shots.

Ashton giggles at the praise, “Yeah, I’m quite good at taking robes on and off of pretty girls and listening to male models complain about how their six-pack isn’t defined enough.”

“I meant with Luke Hemmings,” Lia nods towards the blonde, who seems to be waiting for someone, pointedly. “I’ve never seen him back down from an argument that quickly.” She turns to Ashton with a knowing look on her face.

“I’m just good with divas,” he responds, used to downplaying, “Remember that shoot with Clifford? He practically fell in love with me afterwards.”

“Mikey Clifford falls in love with anyone who compliments his hair.” Lia waves a hand at some of the other interns, dismissing them until tomorrow morning.

“He still calls me sometimes,” Ashton rebuttals quietly.

A few moments of silence later, Lia apologetically tells Ashton that her flight takes off in about twelve hours and she still has some paper work to finish up, so she’ll be heading home. She reminds him that he will have to be present at the rest of today’s shoot and will be needed back on set at 8am tomorrow. He nods and they exchange goodbyes before Lia gets into her Mercedes and drives off, leaving Ashton the person on set with the most responsibilities.

He’s only alone with his clipboard for a few seconds before there’s someone else beside him, and Ashton is about to tell them, in nicer words, to fuck off.

“It’s quite the mouthful, isn’t it?” Luke smartly remarks, hands in his pockets.

“What?” Ashton smiles, in the i’m-only-humoring-you-because-i-have-to way. Honestly he has to worry about three hundred other models right now and he doesn’t want to become any more infatuated with Luke when he can’t immediately go home and wallow.

“ ‘Finer Fulfillment’ is kind of ridiculous, don’t you think?” Luke says, staring off at the sixteen wheelers being loaded with tons of equipment.

 

“Yes, but it’s not my place to say anything about the name of the company that gave me a job,” Ashton fires back.

“I suppose not,” Luke responds complacently, tone smooth. Ashton has a flashback to the cool grin Luke had on his face while the cameras were on him. He had been shirtless, of course, because the universe was cruel and liked to torture Ashton at the most inopportune moments.

Ashton breathes in noisily when the final truck has been boarded up, meaning that he can leave for the next location. “I really-”

“Go out for lunch with me.” Luke demands, turning to face Ashton and look him in the eyes for the first time. 

“P-pardon?” Ashton stutters, and then realizes how ridiculously formal he sounds.

A faint look of annoyance rushes over Luke’s face but it’s replaced by a grin before Ashton even has time to feel bad for his own idiocy. “Let’s go for lunch,” he pulls out an iPhone from the skinny jeans that look painted on to his legs, “doesn’t have to be today. Put in your number and I’ll call you within the week.” 

Ashton nods once, twice, three times, and takes the phone out of Luke’s hands. They’re noticeably smaller than his own, which makes the older boy self-conscious. For a brief moment, he forgets his own phone number, but recovers smoothly.

He hands the phone back and subconsciously wipes his hands on the back pocket of his jeans. God, his hands haven’t been this sweaty the entire time they’ve been talking, have they?

Luke slides his phone into his pocket and flashes his beautiful white teeth at Ashton. “Well, I’ve got to go, and so do you.” Ashton nods furiously in agreement. “I’ll see you around, Ashton.”

\-----------------------------

He waits by the phone, day in and day out.

Not for Luke, necessarily. Part of being an intern is answering phones, so it’s kind of already his responsibility, but Ashton does catch himself thinking about the blonde, over and over. Doesn’t matter what he’s doing or who he’s with.

Luke doesn’t call. At least not in the time frame he said he would.

In fact, the blonde waits until the evening before his next shoot with Finer to even send Ashton a text. Then they come in rapid fire succession, all the messages Ashton had been hoping to receive. There are apologies, mostly wrapped in little anecdotes about how busy Luke is. And then there are smiley faces and compliments.

Luke finally asks Ashton to meet him at a coffeeshop. When Ashton asks what time, Luke just says now, as if it’s the most perfectly obvious thing in the world.

With shaking hands, Ashton hovers his finger over Luke’s contact information, contemplating, before pressing down. He lets out a heavy breath at the ringing tone.

“Hello?” Luke’s voice sounds like silk, albeit slightly distracted.

“T-this is Ashton.”

“I figured, caller ID, honey,” Luke answers, clearly teasing, but Ashton feels ashamed anyways.

_Fuck…._

He can hear Luke clear his throat. “Hey, why don’t we meet at Gilead’s in ten minutes? They’ve got really fantastic bagels.”

Ashton can feel himself tense and untense. He really should spend the rest of his night working on Lia’s proposal for the future of Finer, but she’ll totally understand if he takes one night for himself.

At least, he hopes she will.

“Ashton? You still there?” Luke calls, his tone reminding Ashton of a bemused mother trying to reason with her child.

“Yeah, that sounds great,” Ashton replies, fiddling with the assortment of bracelets on his wrist, “I can’t wait to see you, Luke.”

The line’s already dead.

\-----------------------------

Eleven minutes later, Ashton walks to Gilead’s with his hands in his pockets. He seriously hopes they don’t stay long, not because of the proposal, but because he always gets really nervous going out with people in public. Equal parts paranoia and insecurity lead him to believe that they’ll become automatically disinterested when someone more intriguing comes along.

Ashton knows his place, is well aware he’s not particularly special. He’s certainly not a model, in any case, so he’s clueless as to why Luke is expressing any interest in him.

Maybe it’s just his version of charity work, becoming friends with the intern at the modeling company currently paying him enough money to sustain the lifestyle of a socialite. That would make more sense.

Barren of customers besides an elderly couple in the corner, Gilead’s allows Ashton to relax as soon as he steps over the threshold. He claims a table by slinging his coat over one of the aristocratic looking chairs, chooses the one facing the window display filled with cakes and pastries.

The barista is pretty and she flutters her eyelashes at Ashton, but he’s too focused on his jittery nerves to think about anything else.

He orders a coffee- can’t remember the specifics of what he asked for because he’s trying to picture the exact oceanic shade of blue Luke’s eyes are. 

Ashton’s never been one for pining, prefers to cut his losses before any real pain can be felt, but Luke is special in a way Ashton’s always dreamed about being, starlight and rainbows and beauty all combined.

He’s still waiting for his mysterious coffee when the bell above the door rings, and Luke steps through, looking recently, well, fucked. Or like he fucked another. 

The pang of jealousy that shoots through Ashton’s body is not important. 

He holds up a hand in greeting, which Luke accepts with a nod before sliding into the chair opposite Ashton’s. The older boy tries not to stare as Luke stretches out his limbs. They should look gangly, but instead of a baby giraffe, Luke’s a gazelle. Or a really pretty bird. Or.. he’s just Luke Hemmings, his own type of beautiful that can’t be compared to anything else.

Pretty barista gives Ashton his coffee (he is delighted to find that in his Luke-induced haze, he still ordered his favorite latte) and he rushes back to sit with the aforementioned cause of delirium. 

Luke looks positively intrigued by something on his phone, so Ashton sits down without making much of a fuss. Fortunately, it’s only a couple seconds before Luke places his phone back down on the table.

“Do they have pretzels today?” 

“Um, I don’t really know, I’ll go check if-” Ashton fidgets with his shirt sleeve, and moves to get up. His chair makes a horrible screeching noise and he winces. 

Luke smiles. “No, I’ve got it. You just sit tight.”

\-----------------------------

Ashton doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life reminiscing, doesn’t want to age alongside someone who can’t let go of the past and won’t look forward to the future. 

He rehearses it over and over in his head, the speech he’s going to give his boyfriend of four years when he gets home. The steering wheel feels like it could turn into molding putty underneath his hands, he’s so heated. 

It’s been a long time coming, this argument, but the real issue that lit the fuze is one that Ashton can’t even define. 

It’s a feeling. 

A feeling that started a year ago when Luke joked about having an open relationship, continued when he extraneously spent money from their joint bank account, and has escalated into being present from the moment Ashton wakes up in the morning to the second he falls asleep.

After quitting his job at Finer for Luke, Ashton had started writing again. He has always loved music, but somehow he got too caught up in the fashion world- Luke’s terrain- and he had lost himself. 

He wants to put that into words that won’t tear them apart, but he can’t find a way.

They still love each other, Ashton is sure of that. But Ashton was also sure he’d be in a stable relationship by twenty-four, yet here he is, twenty five and still chasing after a love he’s been craving for years.

Luke won’t be expecting it tonight. It’s supposed to be a celebratory dinner, because his GQ cover sold five million copies, but Ashton’s going to turn the tables.

It’s refreshing, to feel this angry, after feeling empty for so long. He feels like he’s been floating through space, helmet lost long ago, just waiting for death to wash over him.

People have always thought that you die instantaneously after being exposed to that sort of emptiness, but Ashton read once, when he was sat up in the living room at three am waiting for Luke to come home, that a human can survive in space for up to three minutes and be relatively fine afterwards.

That has always seemed so otherworldly, no pun intended, to Ashton. But he knows better now. Decay happens so slowly, almost so you don’t know what’s happening until it’s too late.

He just wants to win. For once. Ashton wants to be the surpriser, not the surprisee. 

_We’re breaking up._

_I’m breaking up with you._

_You ruined me and I won’t let you take any more._

_They’re all going to know exactly how you take a perfectly good relationship and turn it into a disgrace. We are the best example of a failed romance. We loved each other too fucking much and too fucking fiercely. I changed myself every day for you but it was never enough._

When they first got together, everything moved so quickly. Ashton moved into Luke’s penthouse apartment within a year. On their second anniversary, Luke surprised Ashton with the keys to a mansion in Beverly Hills. When they both left Finer, things slowed down, almost to a stop.

He had so much hope for them. Ashton had dreamed about adopting kids, or getting a surrogate. He had spent whole hours at his desk when he was meant to be completing paperwork dreaming of a wedding with thousands in attendance. He had fantasized about them being known as the ultimate power couple, a runway model and his manager.

A songwriter and his muse.

He pulls onto the road leading to their gated community. The packages he picked up from Luke’s P.O box, per request, slide forward onto the floor as a result of the sharp turn and Ashton swears out loud for the first time that day. He’s been oddly calm for someone who is normally so on edge, even on a perfectly good Friday.

The finality of this night feels so welcoming. 

Ashton pulls into the driveway and waits for one of the guards to open the gate, drumming his fingers to a familiar melody on the center console. 

He drives forward and parks in their six car garage, dismayed to find that Luke must have sent most of their waiting staff home for the weekend. 

The house is completely silent, but Luke’s home. Ashton can tell because of the empty pretzel wrapper on the kitchen counter. Crumbs are scattered about the room, and they’ll stay that way until someone gives in and cleans it up, or the maids come back on Monday.

But Ashton’s leaving, so there won’t be any cleaning staff come a week from now. He’s the one who hired them all and they’ve never been that fond of Luke and his habits.

That’s how it’s always been- Luke puts on the pretty face and offers the money while Ashton does the real work. And for a while, he was happy to pretend with Luke that their roles were complimentary to each other.

But the universe is much too cruel for that, and Ashton cannot be quite so forgiving. He’s been acting for Luke so long that he’s gained a sense of high-and-mighty self worth fit for a king. The monster they’ve created together is one that barks without a bite, at first anyways. Slowly but surely the monster developed into one that gnawed away at their relationship, flames licking at their feet like gentle ocean waves, until there was nothing left but burnt remains.

Ashton doesn’t want to have to stay to identify who is at blame for the initial spark that ruined them.

He walks into their shared master bedroom to see Luke having sex with his ex-girlfriend.

They don’t look up. It’s like he hasn’t even walked in. Honestly, it’s the funniest goddamn thing Ashton has seen in weeks.

Luke moans. It sounds like he’s in pain but then again, he and Ashton haven’t fucked in over a month, so maybe Ashton’s just forgetting things.

He turns and gently shuts the door behind him, running down the spiral staircase. When he texts Luke later, Ashton will make up an excuse about staying late at the studio, having to help one of his many co-writers find the lyrics to a rhythm they can’t describe.

Yet again, Ashton has been upstaged by his treasured boyfriend, Luke Hemmings, the model, Luke Hemmings, the enchanter, Luke Hemmings, the fucking gift to mankind they never knew they wanted. 

But this will be the last time.


	2. The Push

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is chapter two.  
> shit is getting real.

The date at the little coffee shop goes well.

At least that’s what Ashton tells himself. 

He and Luke reflect on it later, after they’ve gone on other, more exciting dates, visits to great monuments and several expensive concerts, dinners that cost thousands of dollars that Ashton doesn’t have, extravagant shopping trips that Luke splurges on while Ashton carries bags. 

Luke tells him it was the worst date he had ever been on, that first experience at Gilead’s. That’s the word he uses to describe it, an “experience.” There’s no sugarcoating anymore, just pure honesty.

It’s not what Ashton signed up for.

He’s well aware how rude Luke can be, especially when he feels threatened or is just plain bored. But Ashton can only pretend to accept that part of Luke for as long as Luke is willing to pretend that he can keep that part of him in check around Ashton.

\----------------------------

“What do you mean, an ‘experience,’ Luke?” Ashton questions, his eyes focusing on the space between his boyfriend’s eyebrows. He can’t stand to look him directly in the eyes right now.

Presumably to stall, Luke takes a sip out of his wine glass. He makes a big show out of wiping his mouth afterwards.

“You were just a mess,” Luke traces a finger over the rim of the glass, over and over, “You kept stuttering. It felt like you were trying to present your best self to me, to impress me, or whatever. But that’s not what I like about you.” He leans forward, places his hand on Ashton’s arm and strokes the skin there like you would do to a cat. “I like the.. unpolished version of you. That’s the Ashton I fell in love with.”

Ashton’s muscles tense when Luke’s blue eyes meet his. He knows that Luke can tell, but they both ignore it.

\----------------------------

At that point, Ashton hadn’t entirely been comfortable discussing how he had acted around Luke while they were still casual. That was the old him, the person who had anxiety attacks over ordering a burger and hated interacting with anyone who wasn’t his mother. 

The new Ashton is so much more fun. 

It’s not that he had changed into a completely different person, although that’s what someone would think if they didn’t have the insight into Ashton’s life that someone like Luke would have. Of course, Luke never really paid attention, so even he wouldn’t understand.

Luke had ruined Ashton’s life, one stupid fucking mistake after another. First, he had mistaken the cute intern at his modeling company for easy prey. Second, he had forced his way into said intern’s life and convinced that intern that they would be perfect together.

Third, he let that character- _the one that Ashton’s character looked perfect with_ \- die. In a thousand different ways, Luke killed his perfect, dumb, confident self and left behind a shell that Ashton no longer recognized. But first, he made sure that they were both in way too deep to back away.

The dreams, at first, are tame. Simple joint suicides where they agree to slit their throats and die side by side, the perfect Romeo and Juliet. Or they take pills. Jump off their penthouse apartment building, that later turns into a cozy two-hundred room mansion. Then they turn more sinister, situations where Ashton shoots Luke while they’re in their california king bed and then himself. Runs him over with his Bentley and then drives the car into a river. Hires a hitman and drowns himself in the bathtub five minutes after he gets the confirmation call. A crime of passion, the result of a loss of innocence he never truly recovered from.

When they stop, Ashton misses them.

He’s been so bitter for so long that the dreams gave him a release. Seeing Luke hurt all night was the best anesthetic for then having to deal with him all day. 

So he starts planning. Ashton wastes several notebooks on writing down all the dreams he can remember, and ways he can make them a reality.

\----------------------------

“Honey, I’m home!” Luke screeches, the door slamming behind him. Ashton duly notes the irony of the statement.

Ashton sits in the parlor, curled up into one of his favorite cashmere blankets, a nameless crime novel pushed to the side in favor of another one of his notebooks. The fire he started a few hours ago is still crackling, but just barely. He keeps waiting for one of the sparks to jump out and burn the whole house down, but it never happens.

He stretches his legs out, briefly considers getting up and greeting his boyfriend at the door. It couldn’t hurt to keep up a little bit of pretense. But his leg cramps so he stays put.

Luke walks into the room, seemingly with purpose. Ashton wills himself not to look up from the blank page in front of him. 

“I’m gonna build a fire,” Luke announces, seeming to think it’s the best idea he’s ever had.

“Okay,” Ashton says, humoring the blonde, “Wood is in the gardener’s shed.”

Luke leaves the room without another word. Ashton revels in the return of the silence he loves so much.

It only lasts a moment of course, because sooner that he would have liked, Ashton has to watch as Luke barrels into the room with an armful of wood. He plops it down ungracefully next to the fireplace and stands there, hands on his hips, for a second, before turning to Ashton.

“This is all we have right now.”

“Is that a problem?” Ashton replies dismissively. 

“Well, yeah,” Luke rolls his eyes, and Ashton’s hand twitches. “Do we have any paper trash?”

Ashton sighs. “Check my office.”

“Alright.” Luke whispers, and exits.

While he’s gone, Ashton thinks about strangling his boyfriend. It’s such an intimate way to kill someone. He’d literally be taking his breath away. It’d be so fitting.

Luke comes back into the parlor with a few of Ashton’s notebooks and places them on the mantle. His heartbeat races for a second, but they’re all so simplistic, and the first few pages of each one is filled with innocent song lyrics. 

Ashton could have sworn that he had personally thrown out those notebooks as soon as they were full, not wanting to risk a maid finding a detailed description of the color of Luke’s dried blood hours after Ashton stabs him in the heart. 

He watches as Luke squats down, first putting the logs in, then striking a match. The flames instantly come back to life. From a few feet away, Luke grabs the screen meant to prevent any potential fires and fastens it onto it’s hooks.

“Safety first.” He spews out stupidly. Ashton has to keep himself from standing up and walking out the front door, never to return.

Certainly that’s a lot _safer_ than the alternative.

Ashton keeps his attention on the novel in front of his face but doesn’t entirely tune out the sound of his boyfriend walking around the room aimlessly. He’s about to speak up and ask if there is anything wrong, which would then be answered with a no, and then the silence would return and Ashton could feel satisfied with himself for a little while longer.

But Luke interrupts that idea by making his way to the mantle once more, picking up one of Ashton’s notebooks. 

“I’ve always wondered what you wrote in these,” Luke says, clearly trying to start a conversation. Ashton restrains himself. If he makes a big deal out of Luke not respecting his privacy, he’ll just look incredibly suspicious.

If he’s calm, Luke won’t suspect a thing. He never does. Calmness to Luke equals happiness.

“Those are just my songwriting notebooks,” Ashton pronounces each syllable clearly, understanding the importance of what he says, “and there’s some stress-relieving writing in there.”

“Stress-relieving?” Luke looks up, a sparkle in his eyes, reminiscent of the looks he used to give when Ashton managed one of his photoshoots back in the day.

“Yes, like what Dr. Frein recommended for me.” Ashton inspects his nails. They’re impeccably clean, as usual.

Dr. Frein was the therapist Ashton and Luke had seen for couples therapy, at the recommendation of Luke’s mother, Liz. Ashton loved Liz until she gave him no choice but to visit a fucking counselor that did absolutely nothing for his relationship.

She just told Ashton to start writing all of his _dark thoughts_ in notebooks, and burn them afterwards.

Of course, he didn’t write all of his dark thoughts down, just his favorites. 

Ashton watches as Luke leafs through the blue notebook. That one’s relatively old and also pretty relaxed, considering the subject matter. All of the death transcribed on those pages are romanticized. Some are even written in cursive, loopy script that reminds him of a teenage girl writing love letters to a superstar that will never know her name.

“This is pretty scary stuff, Ash, Jesus!” Luke exclaims, radiating superiority and confidence, and Ashton just shrugs. “Who do you think about when you write all this?”

Ah, so it’s a notebook where he doesn’t mention Luke by name. Good. 

“I don’t think about _anyone_ , Luke,” Ashton nonchalantly throws an arm over the back of the sofa. “I’m not that fucked up.” _Lie._

Luke doesn’t look convinced. “Okay, well is it helping?”

“Helping what?”

“Helping you.. cope.”

“With what? The fact that you forced me to quit my job, dragged me to this deadbeat town in the middle of nowhere, and left me alone in this house all day while you go model for a much shitter company than the one we previously both were employed by?” Ashton says all of this very calmly, simply reciting the chain of events that have turned him into a better, more in-control version of himself.

“Yeah.” Luke confirms, voice small. He’s not so confident now.

“It helps,” Ashton smiles gently, “a lot.” _Lie._

“That’s good,” Luke walks over to the fire, and tosses the blue notebook in. He turns back to Ashton to catch his reaction, which is nonexistent. “I love you, Ashton.”

He blinks, waiting for a response. Ashton isn’t in the business of denying his beloved anything that would be so obviously cruel quite yet. “I love you too.”

Luke’s entire frame relaxes, and Ashton internally cringes at the motion. He hates when Luke plays at being the sympathetic, completely sane boyfriend. It’s an act, but too many people believe it, leaving Ashton to look like the crazy bitch.

\----------------------------

When the notebooks stopped being enough, Ashton realized he was going to have to think of something bigger, something that would shock everyone and leave him victorious.

Which made him realize he couldn’t kill his boyfriend. There was no glory in being a murderer of someone you’ve spent most of your adult years with. Not from the outside, anyways.

One Thursday, when Luke is away at some ridiculous under the sea themed photoshoot, Ashton stumbles upon his first idea as to how he will ruin Luke in the same way Luke hurt him.

An eye for an eye.

Two years. Two whole years of being dedicated to reviving a love that had died the moment they had moved from New York and left behind everything Ashton had built, to take care of Luke’s dying mother. 

That fucking bitch just had to go and get breast cancer three weeks before Ashton would have been promoted. His salary would have been 600,000 dollars per year.

Higher than Luke’s.

So he agreed to move, because that was what a loving boyfriend would do, and he did love Luke then, more than anything. It wasn’t until later that the resentment set in, when his master’s degree in business didn’t mean anything in the small town that had a main street consisting of five stores and three bars.

Luke, of course, by luck, had stumbled upon a fashion designer visiting family and had charmed the literal pants off of her, getting a modeling contract out of a lay that had probably lasted all of five minutes, start to finish.

It was not the first time Ashton had ignored his boyfriend cheating on him.

By some act of pure idiocy, every single day Luke leaves his wallet at home. Back when he actually cared what Luke did with his time, Ashton would call him up and remind him to come get it.

He had given up a long time ago. 

The credit card Luke uses for his personal expenditures is the first one that Ashton sees, and he thanks God that he had been smart enough to watch Luke pay bills a few times. He logs onto Luke’s favorite department store, Macy’s, and racks up a couple thousand dollars of purchases, ranging from an Playstation to a box set of F.R.I.E.N.D.S.

If he does that often enough, Luke- and therefore Ashton- will be in debt in no time.

It’s not too unbelievable, either, that Luke would spend all that money freely. For someone so good with math, he’d been splurging on ridiculous items a lot. 

Money problems is the number one stressor that leads to divorce, or in the case of an umarried couple, something more drastic.. like murder.

He looks at Luke and he doesn't feel anything anymore. The love is gone, has been for so long, but so is the rage.

Ashton just wants revenge.


	3. The Chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter three hell yea

“Lia,” Ashton says gently from his seat, trying to gain the attention of his flighty, yet beloved, boss. “I really need to talk to you.”

“Can’t it wait, darling? You know I have that meeting with the former Valentino model, what’s her name, fuck-” The blonde wig, perfectly fitted so there’s no chance of it sliding off and revealing the bald scalp underneath, bobs up and down as Lia goes from shelf to shelf looking for notes she had meticulously taken the week before during Fashion Week in NYC. She reminds him of a butterfly trying desperately to hold on to its wings.

“No, it can’t,” Ashton watches as Lia holds up the aforementioned notebook like it’s a trophy. He would have told her exactly where it was, considering he was the one in charge of organizing her office, if she had given him a little of the respect this meeting required.

She starts rifling through the notebook and against his own will, Ashton allows his eyes to drift down to the writing on the pages. One of the many things he admires about his boss is her attention to detail and tendency to document everything she goes through on a day to day basis, but it can be a hindrance at times.

“Listen, Ashypoo, we can talk later-”

Before he can stop himself, Ashton yells at Lia for the first time since he became her intern nearly three years prior. “No!” 

Lia stops in her tracks, slowly swivels around to face Ashton. 

“I’m sorry, Lia, everything’s just been really rough with Luke and honestly-” He takes a deep breath. Now isn’t the time to go off on a tangent. “Can you just sit down so we can talk?”

In return, Ashton gets a doubtful look. “Please?”

His boss complies, albeit with the semi-rebellious attitude she always has, by slowly making her way to the ornate desk across from the chair Ashton is sitting in. Her heels click on the hardwood floor and each step sounds like a bullet.

“Alright, what’s going on that is more important than Valentino models?” Lia playfully whispers, even though they’re the only two in the office. It’s a Saturday, and Ashton wouldn’t be here if he had a choice, but Luke had forced him out of bed at six am, claiming a stomach ache.

“I have to quit.”

Lia gasps. Ashton knows she loves gossip and drama but he’s been one of her most loyal assistants and his promotion is only a few, stress-free weeks away. She doesn’t say anything else yet, because even Lia knows better than to interrupt Ashton once he gets started on a work-related rant.

“Luke and I are having some difficulties in our relationship, but we both desperately want to fix each and every one of them,” Ashton pauses for dramatic effect, “and his mother, Liz- you met her once, at a runway show last year- is dying of cancer.” He plays with the frayed material at the end of Luke’s flannel, separating each strand until there’s nothing left to touch. “I agreed to move back to his hometown so he can take care of her.”

“Oh, you saint,” Lia leans forward, hands clasped together under her recently detoxed neck, “where will you two be living, then?”

“North Dakota,” Ashton answers, feeling the bitterness creeping up on him. He’s spent so much time hoping for a godsend to keep his relationship with Luke from ending, but this isn’t so much a gift from God as it is a cruel joke. 

“You’re ripping into the upholstery of my favorite chair, darling,” Lia cautions quietly, opinionless for the first time in years.

Ashton unsinks his fingertips and observes the crescent moon shapes from his nails fade. “M’ sorry, Lia.”

“No worries, darling. Is this your two weeks notice, then?”

\---------------------------------

He spends weeks justifying the behavior. 

At first, Luke makes it easy for him, only come home at three in the morning nights after a photoshoot, so the lies make sense. There was an after party that ran late. We couldn’t get the perfect shot and the photographer was a real fuckin’ stickler for perfection. I stayed to review the footage because I was too excited to wait.

It’s a different girl each night, and Ashton knows this because it’s always a different color. His sweet, charming, midwestern guy has always loved his trophies, whether they be in the form of an award or not, and these girls are no exception.

The first pair are red and lacy, not enough cloth to even cover the important bits. He finds them in one of Luke’s suits, the shirtpocket that neither of them bother to look through before they go to the drycleaner’s. They look shockingly familiar and Ashton recognizes them from belonging to one of the models in the proofs Luke had shoved in his face a week prior.

He writes it off as a prop taken from what Luke called his favorite shoot since he’d moved back “home.”

The next pair are tan, partially sheer. They’re not ravishingly pretty, but would look stunning on the right girl. Ashton throws them in the garbage and doesn’t say a word.

He considers leaving them be, or maybe even laying them in places where Luke is sure to see them, and start panicking. But in a way, Ashton relishes the secret he’s in on, however harmful it will be when it eventually blows up. 

So he keeps throwing them away. The back cover of one of his notebooks has a tally chart dedicated to their colors.

\---------------------------------

Ashton wakes up on their one year anniversary to Luke with a guitar and three edible arrangements. It’s barely seven am, and he can tell because the sunlight streaming through the wide set of windows in their shared master bedroom is not yet harsh enough to irritate his eyes.

“What are you doing, Lukey?” Ashton groans playfully, turns onto his right side so his back is to Luke.

“I’ve been waiting for you to wake up for over an hour,” Luke answers, ignoring the question, “and I will have your full attention, dammit!” He sets the guitar down on the bedroom floor and throws his whole body on top of his boyfriend’s. Ashton yelps from the sudden weight.

“You’re a pain in the ass,” He grumbles, gesturing for Luke to give him one of the pillows that had fallen on the floor. Once it’s in his hands, Ashton immediately hits Luke across the face with the pillow.

“Was that a pun?” Luke wiggles his eyebrows, “or a request, perhaps?”

Ashton groans again. “No, it absolutely was not.”

He moves to fall back on the bed and fall asleep but Luke beats him to it, wrapping both of his arms around Ashton’s waist and cuddling him.

“You are too goddamn perfect,” Luke says, and Ashton feels his chest constrict. He’s never felt this much affection for one person before. There’s no way in hell his life could improve from this. “Now let me give you a blowjob.”

Nope. Life could definitely not get any better.

\---------------------------------

Luke doesn’t notice the credit cards.

How could he, with all the meetings and photoshoots taking up all his free time? Instead, when the bill comes in at the end of the month, Luke asks Ashton if he can make the payment with some of the money he has saved up from a virtuous college fund that never got used, money now intended to help pay for their eventual wedding. But Ashton knows better than to keep that hope alive, especially considering what he has planned.

The only thing that’s more tragic than the fact that it’s come to this- Ashton manipulating and slowly ruining his cheating boyfriend’s reputation so he can eventually escape and spend the rest of his life laughing off the fact that he wasted five years of his life on a guy that’s only made him wickeder- is that it’s taken him this long to realize how necessary it is.

Luke has spent his whole life gleefully ignoring his own responsibilities unless they pleased him. As soon as Ashton was no longer exciting, no longer the anxiety-ridden fixer-upper that didn’t know his own worth, Luke found other, non-male means of excitement. 

The motherfucking God complex he had drove Ashton nuts. It’s impossible to fix someone. They might end up better than how you find them, but in the end, you’re still going to remember the broken individual they were at the start.

Ashton knows- he fucking _knows_ \- that every time Luke looks at him, he still sees that stuttering intern who only gained control of his own voice when there was a challenge to be won. And Ashton also knows that him rising to that challenge- arguing with Luke over his fucking hair of all things- was what made him the perfect pawn in Luke’s game with himself.

Chasing is always the fun part. 

The bottom line is Luke has never had to learn responsibility. No one has ever told him no and gotten away with it. Ashton certainly hadn’t. 

Adults learn from their actions, their mistakes, and grow. They become better for it. An adult acknowledges their fuck-ups and aspires to one day return to their former youthful glory and proceed to surpass expectations set before them. Adults always rise to a challenge.

Luke never got any better. As Ashton grew, became more himself, learned how fun it is to be outspoken and throw biting, witty remarks at whoever listened- Luke just receded. He only cared long enough to keep up appearances. The aura of laziness washed over him as soon as he stepped through the foyer every night. Around his boyfriend, the one he made three hundred thousand empty promises to, Luke never even tried.

But that wasn’t what Ashton had signed up for. 

It was like a mantra, that phrase. _This isn’t what I signed up for._ It wasn’t entirely fair because Ashton hadn’t had the slightest clue what Luke even wanted from him that first date, he had hidden it so well. Luke was just the stunning front-cover model then, no real personality besides the stereotypical diva persona that both aggravated and motivated Ashton to impress and change him.

In the end, those technicalities didn’t matter, because he’d have the final say when it came to how everyone perceived their relationship. 

\---------------------------------

Ashton calls his mother, eager to talk to someone who makes sense and won’t treat him with kid gloves.

“I don’t know how to deal with this,” he breathes into the speaker of the new phone Luke bought him, another bribe to accept the big move.

“You and Luke are gonna be okay, sweetie,” his mother answers, and Ashton can hear the hum of one of her favorite television shows in the background. “You always are.”

“What if we’re not?” Ashton watches Luke pack boxes into the UHAUL, a grin lighting up his boyfriend’s face. Luke hasn’t looked that happy in weeks. 

“Listen, I know you two-”

“I feel like he keeps forgetting.” Ashton interrupts, eyes still on Luke. He struggles to pick up one of the bigger boxes, which Ashton recognizes as the one containing his prized guitar that Luke gave him on their first anniversary.

“He remembers to pack all the big things, everything that he needs to return home and feel like he belongs again. But every time we talk about where we’ll live, he’s stuck in the past, talking about his childhood home and how close we’ll be to the high school he graduated from and.. I’m just a formality. He’s bringing me because he has to. I love him but.. I don’t think that’s enough anymore.”

Ashton’s mother retorts but it’s fruitless and he ignores her. After a few minutes of awkward small talk she asks for him to call her as soon as he and Luke get to their new home, and he obliges her.

\---------------------------------

Of all the places he could have pictured ending up in, North Dakota was not anywhere on the list. 

Every housewife Ashton met- and there were a lot, they all seemed to like him and always had a friend they wanted him to like- was full of seething hatred, covered under layers of cheap makeup, clutching an ugly baby to their chest. These women watched too many soap operas and CSI marathons and spent entire days fantasizing about leaving their husbands and running away with the barely-legal pool boy.

Except none of them had a pool because of how fucking cold North Dakota is, all the time. So they settled for day dreams of the twenty-something that served them at T.G.I Friday’s yesterday. 

Even more sickening were the women actually happy in their marriages- females so consumed by their desire to be loved that they accepted any miniscule bit of attention as the real deal, a reason to abandon their last names and settle for a life of disappointment brought on by some sadistic dick that thought they were properly fuckable for a while.

Worst of all was the twenty-two year old next door to the new mansion Ashton had been unceremoniously left to cultivate while Luke went off to do whoever he could find. 

Isabella, or Izy as she insisted upon from the moment she rang the bell less than three hours after the moving vans had pulled out of the gated community, had already been married for two years to Justin, the apparent “love of her goddamn life.” She was pregnant when Ashton first met her, and here she was again, a year later, stomach stretched out, normal for four months of pregnancy.

Ashton had to hold himself back from yelling at her whenever she asked about his plans with Luke. 

“Oh, Ashy, I’ve seen the way he looks at you,” Isabella trills one June afternoon, holding young little Christian in her lap, when the temperature is just barely livable and Ashton is okay with humoring her because he’s spent most of the day writing lyrics to songs he’ll never perform. The guitar Luke bought him for Christmas last year has been neglected and collecting dust when he picked it up, and the energy Ashton had dissolved as soon as he heard a car door slam.

“I’m nothing to him,” Ashton fires back bitterly, and Isabella physically recoils, the hand she placed on Ashton’s arm sliding back to her side. “You should see him when he comes home at night. Drunk off his ass and lipstick all over his collarbone.” The room is silent, rare considering Christian normally stops whining long enough to let Ashton get a word in. “I was just a charity case gone wrong.”

Isabella looks forlornly to the pair of heels she had taken off as soon as the pretense of their formal lunch plans had fallen through. They’re patent leather, black, and probably the most expensive shoes she owns. 

That’s one mystery Ashton still doesn’t understand about his only “friend.” She dresses like she’s never been to any department store nicer than Macy’s. It might just be poor taste, but it still frustrates him.

“Have you ever caught him?” Isabella asks uneasily. He knows she’s uncomfortable. For someone who loves to gossip, she gets unnerved when the subject is someone she knows. 

“Twice,” Ashton answers. He tries to seem emotional, like it bothers him, but instead the hitched breath just sounds like he can’t breathe. Not that it will really matter, she’ll believe him no matter what he says. Ashton could blatantly lie and tell her Luke sleeps with a different girl in their bed every single night and she’d still sit there, all wide eyes and pursed lips.

Isabella nods slowly, and the look she gives him is much too sympathetic. He doesn’t want sympathy. He wants suffering.

“Sometimes.. guys like that just get caught up in the moment and..” 

The curt nod stops her right in her tracks. “Luke’s not like that. I don’t know what I did, but-” The tears, rehearsed to a T and helped along by the pin slowly pushing into Ashton’s left thumb under the fabric of his sweatshirt, start flowing. “I don’t think he loves me anymore.”

Propelled by some maternal instinct, Isabella inches closer to Ashton before wrapping her arms around him. “Oh honey,” She sighs, “karma will get him, don’t you worry.”

Ashton lets out a deep breath, exhaling onto his insipidly typical neighbor’s shoulder. Hook, line, and sinker. 

Create a friend that will hate Luke’s guts long after Ashton is no longer there to remind her what he’s done- check. 

\---------------------------------

There’s one day that it’ll work perfectly. One day means one chance, and any little mistake could ruin the entire plan and leave Ashton with nowhere to go and no choice but to live with a man that does nothing but remind him of his past.

Regrettably so, a lot of the success will depend on sheer luck. Faking his own death requires so much gritty planning that Ashton cringes when he thinks of the ways the floor could fall from underneath him, despite all the precautions and painstaking work.

This is it. His last night. Tomorrow morning he’ll leave in a shitty, run-of-the-mill car that he bought with cash, dressed like a blue collar employee that doesn’t know the first thing about high fashion or carrying an entire relationship alone, hanging on by a thread for years until finally reaching up and snipping the string with the sharpest pair of scissors mankind has ever seen.

Ashton doesn’t sleep until he hears the front door open. Reaching sideways to the bedside table, he squints at the LED phone screen. 1:36 AM. Typical, even for a Tuesday.

He makes himself comfortable, laying on his stomach and facing away from the master bedroom’s double doors. Regardless of Luke’s intoxication levels, he’ll still stumble in and inevitably try to get his dick wet, before passing out in the middle of begging.

The footsteps are too rhythmic to be drunken, and Ashton’s eyebrows furrow, wondering where Luke has been, if not getting wasted and fucking eighteen year old girls with daddy issues.

As the bedroom doors slide open, Ashton thinks about jumping out the window and running until he can’t breathe anymore. The emptiness of his lungs would be a welcome surprise.

The bed dips in and Luke shuffles around for a few moments. Everything is completely void of noise. It feels like they’re stuck in a air vacuum. 

“Ashton?” Luke inquires, as one of his shoes drops to the floor with a thud. He sounds surprisingly well-put together, and maybe a little concerned. Ashton holds his breath and doesn’t move a muscle. 

“We need to talk,” his boyfriend continues, losing the coherency and instead mumbling his words, like a child. _No, we don’t._

“We have to break up,” Ashton feels his right hand twitch, clenching into a fist. “I’m in love with someone else.”  
There’s a lamp two feet away he could easily pick up, and bash Luke over the head with. It’d be quick and Ashton could take two minutes to clean up the blood. He could still run. Or he could stay and plead self defense, say Luke tried to kill him. It would be a challenge, but he could grab a butcher knife from the kitchen and get Luke’s prints on it, slice a laceration into his own arm so it looks like there was a struggle.

“We’ll talk in the morning,” Luke speaks again. Ashton tries to get the image of Luke’s blood covering the 1500 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets out of his head. 

He falls asleep. Every single dream ends in spurts of red.


End file.
